


Olivarryweek 2018

by Green_Sphynx



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Animal Traits, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasy AU, M/M, Phoenix mythology - freeform, Temporary Character Death, Therapeutic spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-10 21:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15300276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Sphynx/pseuds/Green_Sphynx
Summary: Collection of drabbles written for Olivarryweek 2018





	1. A rogue warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry is offended Oliver is both warrior and archer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** Any  
>  **Day 1** Fantasy AU  
>  Seeing as I rolled straight from the Dragon Age fandom in here, this became a Dragon Age AU.

"What? You can't do that!"

Whoever sounded so offended, he disappeared in the shadows before Oliver could turn and spot him. He'd had to admit: that was pretty impressive. Not many rogues were good enough to escape Oliver's sight.

He couldn't linger to search for his offended young man though, not when the scarred thug in front of him was raising an axe to hack into him. It was pretty easy to side-step the warrior and knock him hard over the head with his bow, kicking him down for good measure. He had his next arrow nocked and ready in a blink, searching for another target.

He'd have released, but he liked to give even thugs the benefit of doubt, these days. Not _much_ benefit, but at least a second or two for them to decide he wasn't worth the trouble and either drop their weapons or flee.

To his surprise, he found he'd had an ally this time.

The mysterious rogue barely flickered out of the shadows to disarm one of the few thugs still standing, the guy's legs kicked out from under him and the rogue already retreating back into the shadows before Oliver could properly focus on him.

Oliver turned to shoot a the last man's dagger from his hand, earning a cry of pain and fear and the thug turning tail to flee. The rest of them was a little slower, but no less determined to run, limp or crawl away now. The fight was over, no matter how many thugs had decided to ambush Oliver.

_Oliver and a mysterious ally._

Oliver didn't put his last nocked arrow away, searching for whoever had fought by his side for now. He didn't make a habit out of trusting rogues, especially when they hadn't been introduced.

"It's done, messère."

Oliver turned abruptly to the voice behind his back, a young man smiling at him most innocuously. Seemingly not impressed with the arrow now aimed at him, or Oliver's glare.

"I came out to help, but it seems you handled them just fine, messère. I've never seen a noble fight so well."

"Yeah, they usually don't slum down here at night," Oliver responded darkly, squinting at the man - a kid, really - before finally, slowly lowering his bow.

"You're really strong for a rogue too, messère." The kid stepped a little closer, eyes wide and almost sparkling. "Never seen an archer with so much… strength. I thought nobles either did some dainty swordsplay or shooting at still targets."

"Most do."

The kid seemed harmless enough, up close. Even if he had more than proven to be able to handle himself in a fight, he looked so disarming and innocent now. Probably a trick, but who wouldn't fall for the enthusiastic puppy look?

The kid seemed to remember himself abruptly, suddenly jumping and stepping back with widened eyes. "Oh, you must be wanting to head home or something. This is not a neighbourhood for nobles, like you said. I'd offer to walk you home but I somehow doubt you'd need me." The grin was nothing short of admiration.

"…yeah… I wouldn't…" Oliver gave the kid a slow once-over. Not a noble, obviously, but not the poorest of the poor either. He didn't look like he belonged in this neighbourhood himself - an area with just thugs, whores and sick. Worse than the alienage, even. "What's your name, kid?"

"It's Barry. And I'm not a kid, messère."

"Oh aren't you? So what do you do for a living?"

"I'm uh…" the kid looked bashful now, and the flush spreading on his face was adorable. "Haven't been able to get a job, proper, messère. I live of the money I get from the City Guard as an informant. Helped them track down a bunch of murders and gangs, and everything. I'm not a crook, messère!"

"And you're in this part of town because…?"

"As I said, messère: I make my money as an informant for the Guard. This part of town is where I find my leads."

Oliver nodded slowly, before taking a small step closer, nodding his head down at the dagger on the kid's side. "And the fighting? Where'd you learn that?"

"On the streets, obviously." The laugh… oh, it was _pretty_. Like a guy's laugh had no right to be. "But I don't like fighting, messère. I just do what I must to stay out of trouble."

"Is that why you joined the fight when I was attacked?"

"W-well, I mean-"

"Or were you hoping to get some coin for your help?"

Another bashful look - an actual batting of lashes even, flushed face and deep, soulful eyes peering up through said lashes.

"Oh, I wouldn't dare ask, messère. But my dad's in the City Guard and he taught me to help the beleaguered, and all that."

"So you're a little slums hero, then?" Oliver was chuckling now, he couldn't help it. The kid was flustered and fidgeting under his attention and he was just too cute. "I'm not giving you coin for your trouble, but you can come with me and I'll give you a job. We can use someone with your talents."

"I'm not exactly a servant, messère." The kid wrung his hands nervously. He should know better than to argue - Maker, he probably _did_.

"We'll figure something out," Oliver promised, and after a pause: "Barry."

The kid beamed up at him like he was the sun himself. He had no business having such a bright smile in such a dark alley, and Oliver felt his heart ache a little for it. It was a smile he wanted to see again, and that couldn't be a good thing.

"Thank you, messère!I won't disappoint!"

Oliver finally tucked his bow back in the sling on his back, gesturing Barry to join him by his side when he started off back in the direction of more savoury parts of the city. Back towards home.

"So what did you mean when you said I couldn't do that? Or were you talking to the thugs?"

When Barry didn't respond immediately, he flashed a glance to the side at the kid's face. Bright red, biting his lip nervously.

"Just that you can't be rich, handsome _and_ good at fighting, messère." 

The lie was smoother than a real lie, even if Oliver knew that was not what Barry had meant when he'd shouted in the fight. Still, he wasn't complaining at the compliments.

This was going to be a good new servant to have. He was going to keep Barry close, that was for sure.


	2. Burning alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry's power shows as fire, not electricity, and he burns bright like the sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** R-17  
>  **Warnings:** graphic death (but no permanent major character death)  
>  **Day 2:** Folklore/Mythology AU   
>  Free interpretation of phoenix mythology

Oliver would have to admit he never _really_ understood why Barry refused to ever help him at night.

At first he'd been miffed; he did almost everything after dark, which meant that Barry was effectively just refusing to help. But he knew Barry wouldn't mean it that way - the kid was always more than eager to offer his help on any occasion. Just never at night.

It became a little clearer when Felicity told him that Barry's powers - his speed, his healing, the fiery trail he left in his path as he ran - were linked to the sun. She called him a phoenix, and Oliver had rolled his eyes because that was Cisco speaking, naming everything with a sense of drama.

But that did not explain the look of terror on Barry's face as they watched the sun go down from the cell they were locked in.

Barry had chased the trail of someone killing metahumans to Starling so Oliver had come to help him out without a second thought. They had assumed the guy had fled Central because the Flash had been hot on his trail. Instead it seemed the intention was to shake off Barry's back-up, and Oliver had foiled any plans of - apparently - sucking out Barry's powers until he was left a dry corpse.

Oliver had never been happier Barry had come to him for help, or there would be no more Flash right now.

Even so, the other meta had gotten Barry good enough that he currently could not use his speed, and trapped them both in a cell - or actually trapped Barry in a cell and then successfully used him as the bait to trap Oliver as well, but who could blame him for rushing to Barry's side when he collapsed out of the blue like that?

"Don't worry, Barry. We get out of here as soon as he returns."

Barry didn't seem comforted, pacing the small cell instead. "He better get back in the next five minutes."

"Are you claustrophobic, Barry?" Oliver hedged, unsure why Barry was so terrified. He was looking more of a mess by the minute, and it was worrying to watch.

"What? No!" Barry gestured nervously at the thin slit in the wall that let them look outside. "But the sun is about to set. I'm running out of time!"

"We don't rely on your powers alone to get out of here," Oliver promised. "I will handle it. You will be fine."

"No, Oliver-" Barry wrung his hands nervously, finally stopping his pacing to face Oliver. "You don't _understand_."

"Then explain it to me." Oliver stepped closer, frowning at Barry while grabbing the younger man's lower arms to steady him.

"I can't _be_ here when the sun goes down," Barry stressed, shooting a quick look around the tiny cell. "Especially not together with you. It's too cramped-"

His breath hitched, his complaints suddenly stopping. Barry's eyes widened at the same time as he pushed away from Oliver, stumbling back against the bars of the cell as far as he could go. His eyes lit up and- _oh_.

_It was horrifically beautiful._

Flames appeared out of nowhere, licking down Barry's arms and fanning out like wings. Barry's head tilted back and the fire sprouted from his eyes, his mouth, singing away his hair faster than a starting fire had any right to.

_A phoenix_ .

Oliver was snapped out of his horrified admiration when Barry _screamed_.

"Barry!"

Oliver stepped closer, only to be forced back by the heat. He had to press back as far as possible and still he felt his skin tighten from the burn, his eyes going dry and his breath coming short. Barry was burning white hot, his clothes all but evaporating in the fire that fed straight from his skin, running lines like feathers.

Then his skin started to peel away and Oliver was no longer able to blink, no longer able to look away despite the heat burning him, because Barry was burning alive right in front of him and he wasn't going down painlessly.

By the time their captor returned it was dark out, and the last embers in Barry's ashes had gone out. Oliver would not deny the wet trails on his cheeks when he grabbed their captor by the shirt and knocked him repeatedly into the bars of the cell until his face was a bloody mess and he passed out. Oliver picked the keys from the man's pocket and found an envelope on him, dumping the letter and money in it on the ground so he could carefully gather up Barry's ashes in it.

He would not leave Barry, even if so little was left of him.

He had no idea what to tell Felicity. He just knew he had to tell her _something_. 

He would just… have her send the police to pick up the metahuman and go home with Barry's ashes first, so he could put them into something better than a used envelope he plucked off the bastard whose fault this was in the first place. He could try to come up with an explanation of what happened in the mean time.

 

_He really couldn't_ .

Oliver had found something that eerily resembled an urn among the vases in the cupboard, and it would do for now. Much better than an envelope, and he could bring it over to Central and offer it to Joe West. Who would kill Oliver for this, but so be it.

Oliver had set the urn on the coffee table, sitting across from it to think.

_Think_ . How had this happened? How was everything fine one moment, and the next Barry was burning alive?  _Burning in agony_ .

Was this why Barry never came out at night? Did he burn if he came out after the sun was set? Did Oliver kill him by not trying harder to break out of that cell sooner? _Why had nobody warned him? Now Barry was dead and it was Oliver's fault._

Now the sun was already rising again and Oliver still had no idea what to tell Felicity - let alone Barry's family.

Oliver was startled by a sudden sound in front of him.

He sat upright quickly, searching for the noise that could not have come from the coffee table. _Only it did_.

So maybe his jaw dropped a little when the urn cracked, and a sudden, intense fire sprung forth. He had to shield his eyes against the heat, too close once again, but this fire died down quick. It was over in maybe a second, and when he looked back there was no more urn.

Or well, the urn was probably still there. Probably cutting right into Barry's naked arse where he was sitting on the broken vase.

Oliver gaped.

Barry opened and closed his mouth twice before he suddenly seemed to understand. _That would be at least one of them_.

"Oh, right! I didn't die in my bed last night!"

"You _what_ now?" Oliver stood abruptly, and Barry jumped slightly, immediately wincing at no doubt the effect of the shards beneath him. The pain also seemed to bring the realisation to him that he was sitting naked.

On Oliver's coffee table.

"Oh my god, what am I doing _here_?" Barry was visibly undecided between covering up and trying to scramble off the table, resulting in him squirming in a way that had him actually jump up with a yell this time. He whirled around, unwittingly presenting Oliver with his naked arse and several shards stuck into it. "What is _this_?"

"B-Barry, hold still!" Even Oliver's face was feeling too hot now, but he managed to grab Barry's hips to keep him from turning again. "There's shards stuck in your skin, let me just-" he plucked the biggest one out with his fingers easily, earning another yelp and Barry jumping away from him, scrambling over the coffee table now.

"Barry!"

"I don't understand!" Barry cried out, looking wild-eyed and still trying to cover his goods.

"That makes two of us."

Oliver stood and walked around the table to do the only thing he could think of that might make Barry stop and hold still. He grabbed the young man - the _phoenix_ apparently - around the waist, drawing him in and planting their lips together resolutely.

Barry froze, stiff in his arms for a second before going lax and letting out a small, desperate little moan that shouldn't be so arousing. Because Oliver couldn't exactly… he had to take those shards out of Barry's arse first.

He pushed Barry at arm's length to give him a stern look. "We can talk about the what and the how after I take those shards out. Are you going to let me?"

Barry's face was bright red but he nodded bashfully.

"Good." Oliver gave him another short kiss - because he couldn't resist - and grabbed Barry's arm to lead him to the bathroom for tweezers and disinfectants.

_At least the conversation with Felicity was going to be easier, if much weirder._


	3. Wings of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry has given up on finding his soulmate, if he was ever even looking. It's just too much trouble when the chances are so slim anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** R-18  
>  **Day 3:** Soulmate AU  
>  I could not really resist the urge of throwing together a my own sort of soulmate AU, just because I could.   
> The title is all that’s cheesy here, though.

When Barry had been little, he had a great romantic view of soulmates just like every other child and unspoiled heart in the world.

He'd see people with wings on the street and his eyes would sparkle, because _they_ had found their soulmates; their happily ever after, their perfect match, the other half to their complete heart. It never truly occurred to him to notice how few people on the streets had wings, because his parents had them.

He lived his childhood in the fantasy world that everyone would one day find their soulmate and be happy.

But then his mother was murdered and his father sent to prison for it.

And then he learned that finding soulmates was not easy _at all_. It wasn't a matter of looking into each other's eyes and knowing the other was the one for you in a heartbeat. You weren't drawn to each other like magnets.

Reality wasn't like literally every story containing a romance: always ending with soulmates finding each other and their wings.

The older he grew, the more he realised how wings messed with people and their romance.

Every couple to finally grow close enough in their romance to sleep together, but _not_ growing their wings after, was forced to live with that strain on their relationship - if they didn't break up immediately after. Everyone wanted to have their soulmate, eventually, and staying with someone who wasn't, even if you loved them, was hard.

People did, of course. People got older and settled for a romantic partner who wasn't a soulmate, because they were tired of waiting. But they would always live under the social pressure, the demand that you couldn't be truly happy without your wings.

Purists even said that having a relationship without wings meant you were cheating on your soulmate, whether you had met them or not.

So by the time Barry got his first girlfriend, he didn't even dare to kiss her in fear of a lack of wings messing things up.

His second was a boyfriend, and they didn't get beyond the most awkward fumbling frottage after which neither knew whether their lack of wings meant they weren't soulmates or if they hadn't gone far enough for them to show. The guy had been so mortified he never looked Barry in the eye again.

Barry's image of romantic soulmates was good and properly ruined when Iris and Eddie found their wings together.

They were perfect together. They were the picture of romance; the story all those books and movies told. But Eddie and Captain Singh were the only people with wings in the entire precinct and that just wasn't right.

He wasn't looking anymore.

He wasn't expecting to find his soulmate, and even if he _met_ his soulmate now, the chances of them being together were damned small. As the Flash he could no longer have proper relationships without screwing it up one way or another. So he didn't try.

He was _done_ trying to fit into these messed up social expectations.

That didn't mean he didn't crave some sexual relief every once in a while, so when Oliver offered… well, who was Barry to say no to Oliver Queen?

Even if Oliver didn't really _offer_ , per se. It was just that they were alone, Barry perched on the table while Oliver patched up a cut on his chest for him, Felicity and Dig already gone home.

And Oliver was so close, and Barry was shirtless and maybe a little heady on the smell of sweat and smoke from Oliver - even if the smoke was from an explosion Barry had to run Oliver away from, but the smell was _there_ and intoxicating now. So he didn't even consider leaning back when Oliver straightened up, their faces suddenly close.

No, rather than leaning back, he might've leaned in. Just a little.

And then he was pinned down on the table, Oliver's hard body pressing down against his own and Oliver's mouth tasted like blood but it couldn't put Barry off even if he thought about it, because this was _Oliver_ and he'd drink a barrel of filth if that meant he got to kiss this man.

He had wrapped his arms around Oliver's shoulders immediately, but the position on the table forced him to wrap his legs around the other's hips as well. Not something he'd normally be confident enough to do but it was that or suffer the edge of the table in his back with half of his weight, and Oliver didn't seem to mind anyway. Rather than minding, Oliver used one hand to hike Barry's thigh a little higher, their hips a little closer.

Barry couldn't help the surprised little moan into Oliver's mouth as they pressed together. Oliver made a small noise in return, and Barry would just take it as amusement to his own reactions, but it didn't bother him. An amused Oliver was not a put off Oliver, and he was going to make the most of this situation even if he couldn't pretend to be a smooth and experienced lover like Oliver himself.

Oliver was plenty smooth for both of them together.

Barry didn't know how long they kissed and _rutted_ but it felt like forever, and he could _keep doing_ _it_ for another eternity. But Oliver seemed to want more out of this encounter - and Barry was the last one complaining for _that_ too - and eventually the hands exploring his chest and sides found their way into his pants.

Barry gasped a little sharper when two strong hands cupped his arse inside his clothes, squeezing experimentally. Oliver pulled back just slightly to meet his eyes, pupils blown in arousal, and Barry nodded his approval quickly.

Oliver was already tugging Barry's pants down before he got a muttered 'please' out.

His fingers scrabbled over Oliver's as the older moved back, forcing Barry's legs off his hips so he could pull away. Barry had to bite down on the whine of disappointment, wide-eyed at the loss.

"Oliver, wha-?"

Oliver rummaged through a drawer before showing what he'd gotten, and Barry relaxed back on the table - or he tried, but that made the edge of the table dig into his back real nasty again so he sat up on the edge. Oliver met him standing, lips pressing together hard and hungry for a few moments before Barry found himself twirled around and pushed forward on the table this time.

Barry didn't miss a beat, spreading his legs to give Oliver better access with his fingers and the lube he'd gotten.

A cold and slick finger slipped down from the top of his crack all the way down to his sack, sending a deep shiver up Barry's spine and a soft curse from his lips.

"Do that again and I'll vibrate through the table," he warned breathily.

"Really?"

Oliver sounded too curious, too teasing, and he was _evil_ for doing it again, forcing Barry to grip the edges of the table tight to keep himself from doing exactly what he had warned for, whimpering in protest.

"Pity, I would have liked to see that."

Barry was ready to quip back, if not for the finger finally finding its goal and sliding deep into his arse in one smooth stroke. Barry tensed, toes curling as his head dropped down on the table for a deep, pleasured moan.

He hadn't gotten to do this often with someone else. Maybe once. He shouldn't tell Oliver that, but he could loudly moan his approval of the finger rubbing his insides anyway.

"You are really tight," Oliver murmured in his ear, and Barry all but bucked back against the finger. "Do I even need to move, or are you going to fuck yourself on my fingers?"

Barry moaned on a too high note, and he knew he sounded pathetic and whiny but there was a second finger pressing in him already and he was definitely fucking himself back on those two.

"T-too hard in-in this posi-siss- fuck, like _this-_ "

The low chuckle in his ear should _not_ arouse him even further, it should embarrass him or make him angry but no, it made his cock jump instead. He was leaking already, and it was just two fingers - three fingers, Oliver wasn't patient either. Good thing that.

"Please, Ollie-"

"Patience, I'm not going to tear you no matter how fast you heal."

Barry whimpered, his knuckles white in how hard he was gripping the table. His breath was clouding the glass beneath him, so he closed his eyes against the light altogether.

" _Please,_ just- I don't care; it's been _too long_ -"

Oliver was laughing softly but the finger drew out, leaving Barry feeling empty and cold. He whined again, not caring at all anymore for how pathetic or inexperienced he may come across. He just needed Oliver, and he needed him _now_.

Luckily, he wasn't kept waiting for long.

Oliver was _thick,_ and Barry understood now why he refused to skip the prep. He breached him slowly, but every inch sinking into him he could feel, stretching, pushing, filling him up like nothing ever before.

And he had some serious toys back home, so that was a feat.

Hot and thick inside him, living, pulsating and _Oliver_.

" _Please-_ "

Oliver hushed him, but he didn't sound as urgent as a man meaning it. So Barry didn't hush, sounds be damned. He let out a louder moan instead, begging with just the sound of it and no more words. He didn't have the patience to wait for Oliver's slow penetration. He didn't have the patience for his _care_ , not with his sort of speed.

He pushed back from the table sharply, taking Oliver's cock to the hilt in one abrupt move.

This time it was Oliver who gasped loudly, quickly grabbing Barry's hips to hold him in place and keep him from any more unexpected movements. Barry could take it easily, but Oliver? Oliver was not as _fast_ as he was.

"Oliver- Ollie please, don't stop, don't stop now please-"

Another breathy laugh made him shut up. "I never expected you to be _this_ eager, Barry. I like it."

Barry was sure he'd been flushed from the sex before, but now his face burned like fire. And he was certain he was leaking steadily by now, and glad Oliver couldn't see that. Ever since his speed he started leaking like mad when he got overly aroused, and it was an embarrassment every time.

Finally, _finally,_ Oliver moved. His hips snapped sharply and Barry's back arched, suddenly halfway upright to cry out in pleasure, but mostly the _intensity_ and he couldn't- he couldn't hold out long if Oliver was going to do that every time.

Which.

He did.

Barry garbled for a protest or a plea for more, but the sharp snaps of Oliver's hips, each thrust hard enough to rock Barry's body forward on the table and another cry to be forced from his throat, he couldn't _speak_. He could only hold on and enjoy, try to move his hips in a somewhat equal rhythm, even if he was failing at that spectacularly.

He was fairly sure his failure at meeting Oliver's rhythm was the only thing keeping him from spilling all over the floor prematurely.

And even then he didn't last long.

Oliver was leaning down over him, hard chest pressed on Barry's back, warm breath against his ear with each pant and each thrust, and Barry was simply too overwhelmed to hold himself back.

His body vibrated, much like he had predicted, and Oliver made a surprised but pleasured noise, hips catching up to a faster pace at the vibrations. Barry was begging incoherently and Oliver's breath was heavier than he'd ever heard it, even in the midst of action, and that was all they both needed.

Barry cried, tears rolling down his cheeks and voice hoarse, while he reached his peak and spilt. He could feel Oliver's rhythm break into a couple of hard, deep thrusts at the same time, signalling his orgasm as well, and that made Barry's all the harder.

_At the same time. A perfect match._

He didn't get the chance to catch his breath.

He was barely finished, still leaking for sure, when he suddenly felt a new pressure on his back. He felt the heat of Oliver's body pull away, but new pressure, just along his shoulder blades. Heavier, tugging on his shoulders like it was _attached_ and he gasped, crying out once more at the sudden flutter of feathers around them.

Oliver stumbled back from him in surprise, and Barry heard him crash to the floor a moment later.

Oliver losing his balance seemed unheard of, unless-

Barry stood and whipped around to see Oliver, only to be dragged down himself by a momentum his body normally didn't have. He crashed down on the floor next to the table, a new pain shooting through his - though his _what?_

He gaped at Oliver.

Oliver, with wings. Wings in a blond-ish colour matching the colour of his hair. Majestic and wide and crumpled between the floor, a cabinet and Oliver's body.

Brown feathers fluttered to the floor around Barry.

He made a sound, opening his mouth, but no words came out. No words could express his surprise.

_Soulmates_ .

Oliver did not look pleased.

_Oliver did not look pleased_ .

Too many thoughts shot through Barry's head at once.

He found his soulmate. His soulmate was not happy. It was _Oliver Queen_. His wings would show even when he was masked and _everyone would know they had a soulmate they could take advantage of._

"Oh… fuck." Barry dropped his face in his hands, quivering with too many emotions for him to name.

They were _fucked_.


	4. Are you okay, Barry?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry needs release from his guilty feelings, and Oliver can offer that release with more care and love than Barry would dare to ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** R-18  
>  **Day 4:** Free day  
>  Sometimes Barry just needs a good spanking and cry his heart out to keep going

Barry was not ready.

But he needed it. He needed it bad.

Oliver had explained to him _what_ he needed and he understood, he truly did, and he _agreed_. But was he ready?

He stood there squirming, stripped down to his underwear, Oliver sitting on the chair and watching him patiently. Oliver had an expectant look on his face that was not about rushing, just about waiting. Oliver knew Barry would be ready, but gave him the time to decide _when_ for himself, and Barry was infinitely grateful for that.

He still wasn't sure he deserved this. No, he was pretty sure he _didn't_ , but Oliver had disagreed and argued until he gave in on that point, at least. After that it was only about _wanting_ , and Barry most certainly wanted it. He needed it, he wanted it; he just needed to replay Oliver's arguments on why he _deserved_ it in his head, because he would always have trouble believing that.

Because he was not worth Oliver's time, let alone his help.

But Oliver said he was and he was waiting so patiently for him there. Barry had no idea how long he made him wait, but it had to be _too_ long.

So finally he gave up waiting on his inner turmoil because he felt guilty making Oliver wait. He knew Oliver would wait all night if he needed to - he knew Oliver would even stop waiting and just take him to bed if he decided against this after all - but he still felt like he owed Oliver more than that, just for the offer alone. Oliver was patient now, but who knew if he'd remain this patient a next time if Barry made him wait too long?

Barry sucked in a deep breath and stepped forward, and Oliver spread his legs to invitingly tap one thigh. Barry was shaking when he knelt down between Oliver's legs before leaning over the indicated thigh, letting Oliver rearrange him until his hips were properly resting on Oliver's thighs and his legs awkwardly bent to keep his weight behind him. His hands were only kept from his shaking because he pressed them to the floor, holding himself up in place.

"Are you ready, Barry?"

Oliver's voice was far too gentle for what Barry was here for. For why this was even necessary. He didn't deserve that gentle tone at all.

So he couldn't quite manage to bring out the words he needed, just swallowing heavily and nodding.

"Barry," Oliver insisted, hand rubbing over the small of his back. "Answer my question."

"Y-yes… I'm ready," he whispered.

"Tell me why you're here."

Barry squeezed his eyes shut, his whole body tensing over Oliver's lap. Did Oliver think he could repeat it again here, like this? Wasn't he feeling bad enough without it?

Apparently he was, because Oliver hushed him with a soothing pat on his back again, before sliding his palm over Barry's briefs. He seemed to just be mapping out Barry's arse for now - as if he had never done that - smoothing his hand over the round of one cheek gently, then the other.

And then, without warning, the hand lifted away to smack down sharply on Barry's arse.

Barry gasped, holding his breath for a second in surprise before finding Oliver's hand smoothing over the hit spot again rather than smacking down a second time. Barry let his breath go slowly, shivering, relaxing back down over the hard thigh.

The next slap surprised him less, and the pause was subsequently shorter. When Barry stopped tensing up completely on each hit Oliver stopped pausing, simply setting a slow but steady rhythm to spank Barry over his briefs. It didn't really hurt yet because Oliver was not putting his strength in the swing of his arm, but Barry feared that meant Oliver was planning for this to take _long_. Long enough to make the lighter spanks hurt, however long that would take.

But it wasn't as bad as Barry was fearing.

The rhythm was somehow hypnotic - the sting and sound of each slap taking over his thoughts instead of all the things he'd been dwelling on. It was relaxing, even if each slap was starting to feel a little meaner the longer they went on. It drew his attention to the increasing pain rather than why they were here.

That is, until Oliver stopped.

Barry made a soft, questioning noise, but Oliver didn't respond immediately. He just stroked Barry's arse as before, letting Barry feel how hot it was getting against the warm hand.

"Are you ready to tell me why you are here now?"

Barry shuddered, but nodded his head. Oliver's hand dipped into his briefs to push them down to his thighs, his hand now smoothing over a hot and bare bottom instead.

"I-I screwed up," Barry hesitantly confessed, his voice small. He felt small; small and guilty and foolish. "People… people died. I could've saved them but I- I didn't. I failed- I failed _them_ and I failed being the _hero_ they expected. I failed everyone…"

He could feel Oliver suck in a deep breath, and he was almost afraid Oliver was going to argue after all. He always did, he never let Barry take the blame even if he deserved it. And he _deserved_ it.

"Are you okay, Barry?" Oliver asked instead, voice slow but measured.

Barry shook his head, unable to put it in words again. His eyes burned and he hated this _hated this it hurt, it was his fault he hurt others-_

The slow smooth of Oliver's calloused hand over his arse brought him back, and he sucked in a shuddering breath, hands unclenching from the fists he'd made.

"Barry, are you okay?"

Barry swallowed and nodded this time. "Y-yes."

"I'm going to punish you now, Barry." Oliver's voice was still slow, controlled, making sure Barry didn't miss any of what he was saying. "I will punish you until you are no longer guilty. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Ollie…"

Barry closed his eyes tight, tensing slightly in preparation for what was to come next.

Of course, that meant it didn't come. Not yet. Oliver kept petting him gently until his muscles slowly relaxed again, letting him rest on Oliver's thigh fully again.

_Then_ it started.

Barry tried his best not to tense up again, but Oliver wasn't holding back this time, landing a barrage of sharp, stinging smacks on his skin. He varied the location only a little, working up and down from the top of Barry's cheeks to the mean little part on his sitting spots, mostly alternating left and right except for _when he didn't_.

Soon enough Barry couldn't suppress the little yelps of pain, starting to squirm in Oliver's lap.

"You're not done yet, Barry."

Barry whimpered when his hand was grabbed a moment before he could use it to shield his hot and abused skin. Oliver turned his arm on his back easily, using his legs to pin Barry's legs in place as well. Barry kept trying to squirm for a few seconds before he needed to focus on keeping his balance, gasping out as he had to once more relax into the spanking he was receiving.

He _couldn't_.

He whined, moaning pitifully on each slap now, squirming as much as he could in Oliver's firm grip - and that wasn't very much. His arse was burning and each slap added more fire, the sting too mean, too hot by now.

Oliver might have let up a little with how hard he was spanking, but he did not slow the pace, and that was the worst part. The lack of relief in between, the merciless smacks raining down without pause.

Barry didn't realise there were tears running down his cheeks until he suddenly choked on a sob.

_He broke_ .

-and started apologising immediately, begging for forgiveness that wasn't Oliver's to give. He was sorry, so _sorry, he didn't mean it-_

He thrashed once more before falling still under Oliver's hand, his begging making place for silent weeping as quick as it had started. And that's when the spanking ended, suddenly a burning hot hand smoothing over his hurting skin.

Oliver was hushing him gently. "You're okay, Barry, it's done. You did really well, you're done now."

Barry was shaking heavier than before when Oliver finally pulled him up, whispering sweet nothings while drawing Barry on his lap. It was an awkward position, Barry too tall for this to be anywhere near comfortable, but he curled in on Oliver regardless, crying and heaving for air into Oliver's shoulder, back hunched almost painfully.

Oliver rubbed his back gently, holding him close with a one-armed hug while softly repeating the mantra until Barry believed him.

Oh, he believed him. He always believed Oliver. He just needed a hand for that, sometimes.

"I'm so proud of you Barry," Oliver muttered, finally using a hand to tilt Barry's face up, studying him while rubbing at the tears on his cheek with a thumb. Barry couldn't make out Oliver's expression through his teary eyes, but he knew which look went with that voice.

Oliver was looking at him proudly and lovingly.

_Barry even believed he deserved it now_ .

"Come, let's get you a glass of water and something to eat. Are you tired, Barry?"

Barry nodded, sniffling on his last tears.

"Would you like to go to bed?"

Barry clung to Oliver's shirt immediately. Technically he knew Oliver wouldn't make him go to bed alone, Oliver would never leave him, but still… he needed the reassurance. And Oliver was always willing to give it to him.

"We can cuddle in bed together. I'll stay while you sleep," Oliver promised. "But only after you eat and drink something."

Barry's shoulders sagged and his hands relaxed in Oliver's shirt. He nodded once more, exhausted now. This always exhausted him, but Oliver never judged. He was really lucky with Oliver, and he knew it.

He felt Oliver's lips pressed to his cheek for a moment before the man stood, pulling Barry up with him on shaky legs. He was helped over to the kitchen and held up while Oliver made him drink. He was not released even when he got a bag of snacks pressed into his hands to carry, so Oliver could bring another glass of water to bed while supporting Barry with one arm.

The only thing that was still going to happen was Oliver putting a cool cream on his arse to soothe the burn, even if it was going to be long healed by morning. Then eat, then sleep.

Barry was ready for sleeping.

He felt heavy with fatigue, but no longer with his worries. His guilt was gone, entirely making place for the exhaustion.

It felt better than anything, and he made a happy, wordless noise when he curled against Oliver's chest in the bed.

_He would be cured for a few days, until he made his next big mistake. Until then, he was free._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will never again listen to Smooth Criminal on repeat for 2 days straight before writing a drabble because _Barry, are you okay; are you okay Barry?_


	5. Snatching up a playboy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry and Oliver are in that honeymoon phase that new couples always are. Or at least, Barry thought they both were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** R-15  
>  **Day 5:** Fake not dating  
>  In which Barry is too emotional (and insecure) for anyone’s good; I'm sorry this got way more angsty than intended

Barry had been in Starling for close to a week now.

Officially he was on vacation.

Unofficially he was helping out the Arrow while occasionally racing over back to Central when shit went down.

Even less officially he was spending most of his time in Oliver's bed.

He was kinda proud that even Oliver was impressed with his sex drive, considering Oliver's past. He had to admit it was entirely due to everything in his body speeding up though, and he didn't normally orgasm five times in an hour and be horny again half a day later.

Well, due to the speed _and_ Oliver's presence. He was a little impressed with how needy he was himself too.

But it had started at the beginning of the week, and by now they'd had basically every piece of furniture in the apartment, while the bed was in more dire need of refreshing than any bed had ever been. Barry had replaced the sheets repeatedly, but Oliver's stack of clean sheets had run out two days ago and neither could keep their hands to themselves long enough in the privacy of Oliver's home to actually get any laundry done.

Not even Barry.

_Especially_ Barry.

And everything was perfect, even tangled in dirty, messy sheets, because he was plastered to the sweaty side of a very sated Oliver Queen, and Barry couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather be. Especially when Oliver gave him that _look_ that made Barry melt a little and bite back on giggling or something equally embarrassing.

"I really need to show my face at that party later, Barry." Oliver sounded appropriately regretful - actually he didn't sound like he wanted to go at all - but they both knew they couldn't lay around in bed forever. If only because Barry was the only one with an official and paid vacation here.

"Will you be alright?" Barry chuckled softly as he pushed himself up and Oliver's hand tried to clutch at his arm to keep him close. He straddled his boyfriend instead, grinning.

"Depends… will you come with me?"

"What, are you going to be that boyfriend who can't go anywhere without his better half?" Barry teased, leaning over to peck Oliver's lips. Oliver, who was very happy with the attention, leaning up into the kiss while pulling Barry down by the hips at the same time.

"Maybe?"

"I'll need to go back to Central City sooner or later." Barry was laughing against Oliver's lips now, but he wasn't letting up, peppering kisses over Barry's face and grinding up against Barry's arse, even if he was soft and Barry doubted he'd be able to get it up for a few more hours after what Barry put him through just now.

"I'll deny that as long as possible," Oliver promised. "Besides, you can run over here in like, two seconds?"

"It takes a little longer than that."

Oliver flipped them without warning, smirking at him while starting to work down Barry's body - and Barry _did_ pop a boner already, because that was what he did, apparently.

"Let me enjoy this time as long as we can then."

 

Barry actually regretted coming along to the party before they were two minutes in.

Women were all but _hanging_ on Oliver, flirting at every opportunity and all but fighting over who got to stand closest to him. Barry hadn't taken himself for the jealous type, but there was a difference between this and _that_.

And Oliver flirted back as if it was harmless. Sure, he didn't actually take any invitations, but Barry could stand to hearing a few less compliments on dresses, jewels and faces around him.

The worst was where Oliver didn't have time to pay him any attention, with the way those women were all over him. Again, Barry wouldn't say he was the jealous type, nor that he wanted to be constantly entertained by his lover, but he knew absolutely nobody at this party and he was feeling highly uncomfortable being left alone here. He took to playing wallflower sooner than he liked to admit, and he almost felt like a stalker with how he kept his eyes on Oliver wherever he went among his admirers.

Okay, he was definitely jealous, and not having fun at all.

Barry sipped the champagne that didn't make him feel anything, staring sourly at Oliver's back while he sweet talked some important looking woman, judging by the luxury she was wearing. They were just close enough for Barry to hear what they were saying, and it made his champagne taste like bile.

"-so is the infamous Oliver Queen caught in someone's net by now? Or still single?" The woman batted long and fake eyelashes at Oliver, and Barry tensed up slightly to hear the response.

But Oliver didn't miss a beat in answering her. "Of course I'm still single," he laughed as if the question itself was ridiculous. "I'm not going to be snatched up that easily."

Barry felt _sick_.

He put his half empty glass on a table close by and fled the party, trying to focus on his feet and _not use his speed_ in such a crowd. It wasn't easy, and he wasn't sure if he succeeded, but he did make it out into the fresh air and then… 

He ran.

Barry had no idea where he was running, if he should be running, but all he could think about were those words.

_'Of course I'm still single.'_

A _week_. They'd been together without pause for a _week_ and Barry was certain it was more than just sex. He'd literally called them boyfriends and Oliver had not denied that they were. Was Barry trying to go too fast? Was he being too pushy thinking they were boyfriends after fucking like bunnies for a week?

_'I'm not going to be snatched up that easily.'_

Was Barry not good enough? Was he going to be just another fun fuck like everyone in Oliver's notorious past as a playboy? Or was he going to be an affair to the side while Oliver waited for the right rich woman to marry?

Barry was entirely out of his depth with this whole billionaire game. Maybe Oliver was never looking for a boyfriend. Maybe he was just looking for fun.

Maybe Barry was just an idiot who should never have fallen for Oliver fucking Queen.

 

He only realised he'd made it all the way home because his phone went off, snapping him out of his dark maelstrom of thoughts.

He blinked, looking around in confusion for a moment before realising he was in his own apartment, in the dark on the carpet, between the couch and the coffee table. He wouldn't have noticed his phone if it wasn't vibrating between his thigh and belly, pressed together tightly because he was sitting curled up like that.

He felt like he was coming out of a haze, and didn't stop to think when picking up the call.

"Uh, hello?"

"Barry? Barry where'd you go, I can't find you anywhere!"

Barry blinked again, realising it was _Oliver_ , and he sounded worried. _Worried!_ What a laugh.

"I went home," he croaked, before ending the call and throwing the phone across the floor.

Because they weren't dating anyway. Oliver was still single, and not so easily snatched up.

There was nothing for Barry to have stayed for.

He pressed his face against his knees, ignoring the flashing and vibrating off his phone on the other side of the room.

_Oliver wasn't his boyfriend anyway._


	6. Little Red Riding Hood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That Little Red Riding Hood AU where the Red Hood almost puts an arrow in the wolf before he can talk himself out of it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** R-17  
>  **Day 6:** Fairytale AU   
>  I have a special relationship with the story of Little Red Riding Hood: the first story I ever wrote in English was an assignment for school where we got the first bit of the fairytale and had to finish it in a new way.  
> I did the same here, the first part being quoted from the English translation of brothers Grimm

_Once upon a time there was a sweet little girl. Everyone who saw her liked her, but most of all her grandmother, who did not know what to give the child next. Once she gave her a little riding hood made of red velvet. Because it suited her so well, and she wanted to wear it all the time, she came to be known as Little Red Riding Hood._

_One day her mother said to her, "Come Little Red Riding Hood. Here is a piece of cake and a bottle of wine. Take them to your grandmother. She is sick and weak, and they will do her well. Mind your manners and give her my greetings. Behave yourself on the way, and do not leave the path, or you might fall down and break the glass, and then there will be nothing for your grandmother. And when you enter her parlour, don't forget to say 'Good morning,' and don't peer into all the corners first."_

_"I'll do everything just right," said Little Red Riding Hood, shaking her mother's hand._

_The grandmother lived out in the woods, a half hour from the village. When Little Red Riding Hood entered the woods a wolf came up to her. She did not know what a wicked animal he was, and was not afraid of him._

 

Or so they told him.

But none of that explained the arrow currently trained at his face and the very angry glare from the - admittedly cute, in a ruggedly handsome way - man under the red hood.

It was supposed to be _simple_. Not that Barry asked for a simple prey - not at all, he'd never asked for this at all. But he was the fastest hunter of the pack and his elders were fed up with him catching prey but never killing it. They'd given him an ultimatum: go kill a human or no longer be part of the pack.

And with Barry's inability to kill, he wouldn't last for a week without his pack. A wolf could not live on _plants_.

But since he was still their fastest hunter, his kinder elders had made sure to help him to an easy prey. A little girl who'd be wearing something bright red, unable to miss her when she passed through the woods like she often did. And wolves didn't normally hunt humans, so she wouldn't be afraid-

_To hell with that; Barry was the one almost pissing himself in fear here_ .

"Look this-this must be some sort of-of misunder _standing-_ no need to threaten me, good man, I don't mean you any harm and-and I don't see why you should mean _me_ any harm so please just lower the thingy- the arrow okay?"

Barry stopped his pleading abruptly at a sharp, warning gesture of the arrow under his nose, his eyes crossing to stay on the sharp tip.

"Please?"

"You were after my little sister," the man growled, and Barry was fairly certain he sounded almost more like an angry wolf than the upset elders he'd be returning to after this fiasco, "give me _one_ good reason not to put an arrow in you."

"Wha-what makes you think I was after your little sister?" Barry spread his hands disarmingly, trying for an innocent smile - probably looked more scared than innocent but he could try. At least the story of the cute girl made more sense now, if this guy was here wearing the red riding hood in her place.

"Practically jumping the one in the bright red riding hood walking through the woods? That's usually my little sister, and she was never bothered by the wolves before. Too bad for you, I'm a hunter myself and I heard all about this plan to kill her."

Barry scoffed despite himself. "If you heard _all_ about it, you would know I was more likely to escort her safely to the other side of the woods than actually kill her."

"You think I would believe that, coming from a wolf?"

Barry give a wide, disarming smile - that may show off some very sharp teeth but usually his awkwardness worked for people. "You said it yourself: we never bother humans even if they are little girls alone in the woods wearing bright red clothes. The only reason I was sent here to do so now was to prove I can kill - which I can't. Which is the main problem here - for me anyway. I mean, I'm definitely going to return without a kill now which means I'm out of the pack, which means I'm basically dead already so you might as well put that arrow in me- I mean I'd really rather you didn't but theoretically speaking, you know? Just, please don't…" He slumped against the tree he'd backed up against, ears flattening a little as his face fell. "…not sure if I need the humiliation of getting killed while trying to hunt a little girl on top of failing in the first place."

The arrow finally lowered, the tension on the bow falling and giving Barry the confidence to breathe in deeply again. He was screwed, but at least not _yet_.

"…so not Little Red Riding Hood then?" Barry finally dared to give the man a good look, and he was most certainly not _little_. It was a red riding hood, but it looked too small on him, stretching around his broad shoulders. There was nothing femininely cute about his stubble or strong jaw, or the balanced, powerful stance of the man. He was ridiculously attractive for a human, that was sure.

"You're thinking about my little sister, yeah." The man kept his eyes sharp on Barry, but he did tuck his arrow back in the quiver. "I'm Oliver."

"Barry," the wolf introduced awkwardly.

"How does a wolf survive without killing? You're a carnivore - you live of carcasses?"

Barry made a face at the thought of scavenging. That was just disgusting - but also likely his only option from today on. "A wolf does _not_ survive without killing. I had hoped my speed would make me valuable enough to the pack to keep me around, despite always waiting for someone else to kill my prey for me."

"So what will you do now?"

He gave the human an unhappy look. "I have no idea. I doubt another pack would take me in, and humans don't like us wolves very much."

"Might have something to do with how you turn on us so easily," the man growled, and a shiver went down Barry's spine. This man really did sound like a wolf when he growled like that… Barry should _not_ be feeling so attracted to a human here.

"Not my idea to turn on you," Barry muttered uncomfortably, squirming under Oliver's gaze. "Nor my _intention_. I think we'd be better of being friendly, but the wolves are still upset about the whole domesticated dog thing."

Oliver's eyebrows almost climbed up into his hairline. " _That_ is the problem? That humans domesticated dogs?"

"You can't deny it looks pretty humiliating from _our_ point of view," Barry shot back, a little sharper. "You turned them into your literal pets. They can't even shift their form anymore, they're just… pets…" He repeated the word awkwardly, unable to find a better word.

"Most of our dogs are more partners than pets," Oliver pointed out. "But you're right that they can't shift their form like you do."

"And obey your every order, and be made to eat from a bowl when _you_ decide, not when they're hungry, and-"

"Enough, enough, I get it." Oliver waved his hand in front of Barry uncomfortably. "It's true, we see them as inferior beings despite calling them partners. But how could we trust them if they were like you? Too smart, ready to turn on us at any moment because of some base instincts-"

This time Barry broke him off, pressing away from the tree and directly into Oliver's space. Oliver blinked in surprise but didn't flinch back, allowing Barry to reach up and slide the red hood off his head, taking the shadow off his eyes. "We are no more slave to our instincts than you are to yours, Oliver. We have a different culture, and that's the extent of it." He kept Oliver's gaze steady, not showing his fear of before. If he could make this human understand, just one of them, then maybe… maybe wolves and humans didn't have to be on the verge of hostile anymore. Maybe he could convince people and wolves how similar they were.

A silly crusade to get started on on the day he was going to be kicked out of his pack, but he had little left to lose now.

"You're saying we should treat wolves the same as humans?"

Barry liked to think Oliver sounded impressed, breathy even. He liked that thought, even while Oliver's pupils were dilating like he was ready to pounce on his prey. Barry knew he was about to get shot down on his silly words the moment he responded.

"Not exactly the same, but with the same level of respect for sure. We are not worth less than you are, nor are you less animal than us."

The next moment he was pressed back against the tree, and everything in Barry's head was screaming at him that he was being attacked, his hands already squeezing down on Oliver's wrists where they were up to his face, Oliver's large, rough palms cupping his cheeks. It took Barry a few seconds too long to realise Oliver was not tearing into him like a wolf, but was _kissing_ him.

He let out a small, submissive whimper of surprise that he would've made if he was being attacked by a superior, but it worked on Oliver all the same. A thigh was pressed up between his legs, pressing up against his crotch in a far more suggestive way than Barry could explain innocently.

Finally, he melted into the kiss, hands relaxing on Oliver's arms but still holding on - holding on for dear life. He had no knowledge of human mating habits and for all he knew Oliver was still going to bite his tongue off, with the way he was prying his own tongue at Barry's lips. He parted his lips to give Oliver access, but the human was quickly deterred by the sharp teeth he found.

Oliver pulled back, breathing heavily and pupils dilated even further than before - and only now Barry realised that had _nothing_ to do with pouncing a prey. Not in an aggressive way, anyway.

So Barry did the only thing he knew to do: follow his instincts and grind down on the thigh between his legs, shivering at the strange feeling of Oliver's leather clothes against his bare skin. Oliver's lips were back on his own immediately and Barry wrapped his arms around the human's body, fingers trying to tangle into his clothes where they wanted skin or fur to pet.

The tree was rough against his bare skin on his back, but Barry didn't care with Oliver pressed against his front. He cared about _more_ and wanting to keep this, wanting to stay and - fuck he wanted to _mate_ this human now.

Oliver was smirking at him, whimpering needily under the human's pinning body. "If you can't go back to your pack anyway… well, maybe we can work something out."


	7. Always late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver is a musical producer and initially turns Barry down, and man, does he have regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** All  
>  **Day 7:** Musical AU   
>  In which Oliver is a very frustrated musical producer.

"I'm sorry! Mr. Queen! Could you- could you tell me where the auditions are being held- please?!"

Oliver gave the kid a disapproving once-over. He was panting and sweating like he'd been running to get here in time straight of of school.

"They're over. And there are no child roles in this play."

Oliver didn't stay to watch first the horror and then the indignation to play over the kid's face, walking away without a second thought. He had no time for kids, he had a musical to produce; and a meeting waiting for him to go over the auditions they'd watched today. None of the actors really spoke to him, but Felicity seemed to have taken to a few of them. They could figure this out.

This was going to be the biggest musical of the company for years to come, after all.

 

The musical was a flop.

Their lead actor did the sloppiest death scene Oliver had ever seen, and somehow managed to top that - bottom that? - every evening again. And as well as he'd sung during all the rehearsals, he turned out to be unable to switch between singing and acting without stumbling over his lines for minutes.

That, and there was no chemistry whatsoever with his understudy and the actor playing the love interest, so Oliver couldn't even kick his lead actor.

He was _desperate_ for a new understudy and the play had only been on stage for three weeks, ticket sales taking a nose dive ever since the first reviews came out.

And to add insult to injury, the newest production of S.T.A.R. Industries had taken a flying start.

He'd scoffed at the title they'd picked - doing some sort of superhero thing in musical form? And naming it 'The Flash'? Sounded like they were staging a peep show. But they had always been quaint in their plays - they always managed to attract just enough of an audience to keep going the way they were - so they were never much of a danger for the Queens. At least not until now.

With the disaster of their great project, the reviewers that were normally _his_ were suddenly referring people to the S.T.A.R. Industries musical, promising that to be the season's hit. The lead actor was lauded for having golden pipes and 'the best on-stage acting since Oliver Queen himself took to the stage'. 

The absolute worst was that Oliver recognised the face of this supposedly amazing Barry Allen as the kid he'd unceremoniously turned down for being late to the auditions of his own play.

So he would not deny the sour look on his face when he went to watch 'The Flash'. It was a purely professional interest in how their friendly rivals were doing, and he was not here fishing for something bad to say, nor to potentially try steal their star.

After ten minutes of listening to that singing voice, he was _definitely_ going to try steal their star.

He couldn't just waltz in backstage, sadly, but he could make a point out of waiting in his car behind the theatre until Barry Allen would come out. Even if it did make him a bit of a creeper; he'd had to do worse in this industry.

It was a long wait, but Oliver didn't mind that. It meant that most other actors and backstage staff had cleared out by the time Barry made it through the door, and there would not be an audience to Oliver stepping out of the car to beckon Barry over.

The young face wasn't half star-struck as the last time they'd met. Rather than that he was looking rather exhausted and upon spotting Oliver his look turned to something rather put-off.

"Mr. Queen, as honoured as I am to find you here, I'm starving and exhausted and I just wanna go home."

Oliver smiled, giving the young man a look. He really wasn't a kid, like he'd assumed last time, but he did have the worst case of baby-face that explained why Oliver had mistaken him for one so easily. He might've cracked a joke about his bedtime if he wasn't here to be friendly.

"How about I take you for some food while we talk, then?"

Barry squinted at him for a moment before giving in - way too trusting, that was for sure - and sighing his assent. "It better be Big Belly Burger."

"As you wish," Oliver chuckled, charmed now. This kid - _man_ \- was cute.

He gestured at the open car door for Barry to get in, and the actor did so without hesitation - seriously, who raised this kid? - so he had him scoot over for Oliver to join him. Barry seemed surprised that they had a driver, eyes wide now and moving between Oliver and the back of his driver's head.

"Closest Big Belly Burger please, Dig."

A silence fell when they started driving, and although Oliver was comfortable just soaking in the kid's demeanour, Barry seemed to get nervous by the silence.

"So uh, why'd you wanna talk to _me_ now? You're not going to try sabotage our musical, are you?"

Oliver let out a surprised laugh, looking Barry over for that. "Of course not. I just wanted to… make you an offer. Queen Consolidated has a lot more money than S.T.A.R. Industries, after all."

Barry blinked in confusion. "You want me to what… stop doing 'The Flash' and come over to Queen Consolidated? I thought you were already in production for like, a month now." A touch of bitterness seeped into his voice. "And you were pretty clear about turning me down for so much as an audition last year."

"A mistake, obviously." Oliver nodded in acknowledgement nonetheless. He'd been beating himself up over that scene since finding out that Barry had the leading role in a S.T.A.R. Industries production. "Our star is not living up to our expectations, nor is his understudy. I was hoping I could make you an offer that would convince you to understudy for our lead role."

"Absolutely not." Barry crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly looking petulant. "I'm not going to roll over for you and leave this musical now. I owe them for giving me this role and this chance - and what do you think it will look like if I run off for better money in the middle of the role that is making my name?"

Oliver had to give him that one, that _would_ look terrible. 

"Alright, so how about when 'The Flash' ends? S.T.A.R. Industries' musicals never run for more than a few months at most."

He got a doubtful look for that. "I'll consider it."

He'd be a fool not to. Oliver was giving him a golden offer here and Barry's future in the musical world would be set if he took it. Oliver just had to keep his own musical floating long enough for Barry to finally come and save the production.

"I truly regret not giving you the possibility to audition, last year," he told Barry truthfully. "Even if you were past late."

"And now you want me without an audition," Barry muttered, sounding equal parts bitter and amused. It really was rather ironic.

"I wouldn't say no to hearing you sing again; not after that performance I got to experience earlier."

Now the look he was getting was definitely amused. "You can always get a ticket for another performance. I'll even let you know what days I'm off so you won't be there for me and get my understudy."

"That's hardly an audition, I'd want a song from _my_ musical," Oliver teased lightly, leaning in a little unconsciously.

"Hmm… that's fair." Barry looked thoughtful for a moment, and then without warning he cleared his throat and started singing.

It was the title song of Queen's musical, and although their star was a good singer, Oliver had never heard it like _this_.

He may or may not have fallen a little bit in love with the young man in the car with him that night.

 

He didn't save his musical with Barry Allen.

'The Flash' got extended for the success several times, and Queen Consolidated cut down on their flopped musical halfway the planned running time.

Oliver _did_ seduce Barry into the lead role of their following production though, and if that was via his bed well, it wasn't like he seduced one of his _own_ actors this time. All he knew was that Barry's name was made in the industry, and Oliver's was saved after that fiasco.

That, and he never planned to produce a musical without Barry Allen in one of the bigger roles ever again.


End file.
